


friction means move

by oddishly



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Consent Issues, Dom/sub, M/M, Rough Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-31
Updated: 2017-07-31
Packaged: 2018-12-09 02:58:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,806
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11660205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oddishly/pseuds/oddishly
Summary: They take what they can get.





	friction means move

**Author's Note:**

  * For [alohacowboy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/alohacowboy/gifts).



> for alohacowboy, who deserves nice things. 
> 
> Please feel free to comment or email [my username]@gmail.com for more details about the consent issues.

Gwaine is three sheets to the wind when he plonks his beer down on the mat and says with a bright look at Merlin, followed by a horribly unsubtle one at Arthur, spread out across the table from him: “All right, here we are, onto the good stuff. Merlin. Your turn. Fuck, marry, kill--”

Arthur watches Merlin peel himself out of the booth in a bustle of limbs and into the space Gwaine has just vacated at the edge of it. He picks up Gwaine’s beer and takes a deep drink, then says with something that’s about to be a leer but falls short, “Not tonight.”

It’s a Thursday night in August, and the pub is usually empty but is today full of students doing shots to celebrate their A level results. Or commiserate them, Arthur supposes. Merlin has to battle his way through, either way, to escape Gwaine’s stupid drinking games, and it takes a long minute before Arthur sees the door to the beer garden do its long snick shut after Merlin.

“What’s up with him?” says Gwaine. He waves Mordred's answer off and gives Arthur a look.

“Good question,” says Arthur to the table top. Apparently in the last four years of knowing Gwaine he had failed to make clear how much he disliked being micromanaged. “One Merlin is best qualified to answer.”

Gwaine flaps at Mordred again and looks harder at Arthur. “Merlin’s not here anymore, though, is he?”

Arthur shuts his eyes briefly. Then he shuffles Gwaine out of the booth so he can get out himself. “Don’t do that again,” he says, and takes his own long drink of Gwaine’s beer before he follows Merlin outside.

 

 

He finds Merlin sitting at a picnic bench on the far side of the grassy the beer garden, suspiciously deep in conversation with the much-too-young for him wearer of a rainbow-sequined atrocity of a shirt that should have been left behind in the 80s. He’s got a leg on either side of the bench, his arm resting on the table as he leans in a tiny, maddening distance to talk. The boy’s head keeps moving in a way that tells Arthur he’s trying to use the darkness as cover to look down Merlin’s body. Arthur scowls.

He sits at another bench under a Budweiser parasol while he waits for whatever they’re talking about to stop being interesting, ignoring two women eyeing him up over their cigarettes, and tunes into the conversation only when his phone darkens to low battery.

“--at Oxford, actually--her theories are fascinating, wouldn't you agree--” the be-sequined child is saying when he touches Merlin's hand for emphasis, and Arthur decides enough is enough and stands up to join them.

"Merlin?"

Merlin doesn't look at him."I'm talking," he says, and turns to face the boy more directly. "Sorry about him."

"Oh, that's--"

"Why don't you introduce us?" says Arthur, maneuvering his way around Merlin to stick his hand under the boy's nose. "I'm Arthur. And just like you,” he looks Merlin full in the face, “I'm desperate to suck Merlin off."

Merlin flushes a brilliant purple, just as Arthur thought he would. The boy gapes. Arthur wants him to go away. “Run along,” he says pleasantly, and the boy skitters away.

Merlin’s jaw moves, gritting his teeth. “Just couldn’t help yourself?”

Arthur’s heart beats rough and quick. “No,” he says, and doesn’t let himself look away, even when Merlin scoffs.

They've never tried to address this before, the jagged space at the edge of every conversation and look that Arthur wants to turn into his teeth scraping Merlin's neck as they fuck, gravel rough on his knees when he sucks down Merlin's cock, knowing the taste of Merlin’s mouth when they kiss when it’s late and they’re angry. He looks down Merlin’s body, wanting Merlin to see him do it. He knows he's being a dick and he can't help that either. Or maybe he just doesn't want to.

“Fine,” says Merlin, eyes flashing. “Prove it.”

Arthur waits, grinding his teeth together when Merlin doesn’t say anything else. “Really, Merlin--”

“You said you're desperate to suck me off. Prove it.”

“Here?” Arthur shakes his head, looking from the recycling bins falling down along the pebble-dashed exterior of the building, to the broken heat lamp on the paving slabs, then at the other two occupants of the beer garden, both of whom are now thoroughly preoccupied with their own fingernails.

"Here, somewhere else, inside on top of the bar for all I care," says Merlin. "Or was that all talk?"

Arthur's lip curls and he steps closer, drags Merlin up in his seat and presses their mouths together. It doesn’t feel like a first time, Arthur’s head tipped awkwardly down to Merlin's; it's familiar, as if they've always kissed their way through fighting. Arthur lifts his hand to the back of Merlin's head and holds him there, fingers dipping below the stupid scarf that he's dreamed about setting on fire, pressing his fingertips down so Merlin feels it.

It’s late and the night air is cool, and Arthur hisses when Merlin grabs his shirt with one hand and slides the other underneath it, fingers spread wide and cold against his hip, pulling him closer. Arthur uses one hand to tug his own top out of his jeans, still kissing Merlin when contorts his leg over the bench so he’s facing Arthur properly, now sitting on the edge of the bench. He widens his legs as soon as he’s managed it, yanking Arthur in between his spread thighs.

Arthur makes some kind of approving noise against Merlin’s mouth and bites a little, tasting beer and salt on Merlin’s tongue.

The door to the pub slams. Arthur opens his eyes in a daze and finds Merlin already looking at him, and pulls away a bit, standing more upright to look around them before returning to look at Merlin’s red mouth. “We scared everyone away.”

“Thinking about changing your mind?”

Arthur narrows his eyes. “Are you?”

Merlin stretches his legs out, widening the space between them. He leans back against the picnic bench on both elbows and says, unsmiling, “Get on your knees.”

Arthur catches his breath. He drops to both knees in the grass and lets himself stare. Merlin’s erection is obvious, and they’re far from the building but the moon is bright above them, and anyone who gets within twenty feet of them will get a show.

Arthur wants to get a hand on himself but he wants to get Merlin’s jeans open and his cock in his mouth more. He licks his lips slowly, pressing the heel of his hand to the front of his jeans then gripping his erection through the denim, watching Merlin’s expression darken.

Merlin starts undoing his jeans one-handed, button by button, and with both eyes on Arthur, reaches into his underwear to hold his prick. It looks like a lot in his hand, knuckles raised through the cotton as he strokes once, then again.

“Take it out,” says Arthur. His voice sounds low in his ears. “I want to see.”

Merlin does as requested, at the same time pushing the waistband down with his other hand. His cock is rigid, thick and dark in his fist. Arthur’s mouth waters.

“Still desperate?” says Merlin. He isn’t even looking at Arthur now, he’s looking down at his cock, eyes following the movement of his own hand down the length, rolling over the head. “Are you?”

“Yes,” says Arthur. He squeezes his fingers around himself.

Merlin’s mouth curves. He lets go of his cock and reaches out, sliding the same hand along Arthur’s face and leaving wet traces behind on his cheek, following the curve of his skull to bow his head down. Arthur’s pulse races, mouth widening and wet around the cock as he goes.

Merlin eases the push on Arthur’s head just as Arthur is about to lose his breath, and pulls lightly in his hair until Arthur comes off again. “Breathe,” he says, and then pushes Arthur’s head down again, this time thrusting slowly up at the same time. Off, then back again, harder still.

“Open,” Merlin mutters. “More.”

Arthur widens his mouth, trying not to gag. His eyes are watering, Merlin’s cock is heavy on his tongue, and he isn’t being gentle. He shoves deeper and Arthur chokes a bit.

Merlin catches his hand around the back of Arthur’s head and lifts, then pulls him down the length of his cock, just enough to let Arthur pull off and give up, if he needs to, or to cope, until Merlin lets him breathe in again. Arthur gives in to it, sliding down the underside of Merlin’s cock, feeling the vein and curling his tongue as close around him as he can. He’s going almost out of his mind, wants Merlin to speed up his thrusts or push his head down harder or faster, wants to watch Merlin’s eyes blacken every time he sees his cock press against the inside of Arthur’s cheek. 

He looks up through his eyelashes to find Merlin is biting down on his lip, like he’d normally be moaning, or telling Arthur what to do. It makes something in Arthur’s chest spark, and he groans, quiet, around Merlin’s cock as he goes down again. Merlin says, “Shiiit, _Arthur,”_ in a whisper, ramming up again before he finishes speaking, over and over until he’s coming, filling Arthur’s mouth, swearing into the space between them. 

Merlin draws back so just the head on Arthur’s tongue, as if he didn’t just come down Arthur’s throat. He leaves his fingers laced in Arthur’s hair. “What did you tell the others?”

Arthur replaces his mouth with the circle of his fingers, gently sliding. He catches Merlin’s eye. “I didn’t,” he says. “I just followed you out here.”

Merlin makes a bit of a face, resigned and accepting. He puts his fingers over Arthur’s and drags them down and away from his cock, then pulls his boxers back up. “Did you come?”

“No,” says Arthur. He lets go of his cock, trying to sit back on his heels until he realises that Merlin is still keeping him close. Arthur stares at him, trying to work out any of the feelings flooding his chest, and focusing on the spark that brightens when he sees the bite mark in Merlin’s lip.

Merlin leans down, hesitates, and presses their mouths together again. He replaces Arthur’s hand with his own, light fingers pressing brief against Arthur’s cock through his jeans. “Don’t,” he says, quiet against Arthur’s mouth. It’s a suggestion, or a promise, Arthur can’t tell which.

He stays where he is between Merlin’s legs, but sits back a little and nods, and breathes in deep in the cool blue dark. Wondering.


End file.
